


Wrong Turns on a Lonely Road

by embroiderama



Series: Wrong Turns AU [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1569131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Peter never caught Neal, nothing went quite the same for either of them. When Peter picks up a man stranded on the side of the road in the desert, he gets a glimpse at what might have been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong Turns on a Lonely Road

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kanarek13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanarek13/gifts).



> This was inspired by Matt Bomer's _Details_ [photoshoot](http://tomandlorenzo.com/2014/04/matt-bomer-for-details-magazine/) and by a subsequent discussion with [](http://kanarek13.livejournal.com/profile)[**kanarek13**](http://kanarek13.livejournal.com/) and then encouraged by [](http://pooh-collector.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://pooh-collector.livejournal.com/)**pooh_collector** , among others. I know very little about the desert, being an east coast girl, so please handwave anything in here that's wrong. Any mangling of reality was done in service of the porn.

  
Art by kanarek13

~~~

Peter squinted against the bright afternoon sunlight reflecting off of the desert sand and rocks around him and wished again that he were still in New York. The promotion to ASAC was welcome, but a decade ago Peter had thought he was well on the path toward moving up in the White Collar division in New York or even moving to DC. A transfer to the west coast wasn't exactly what he'd wanted, but his closure rate had taken a dive along with his marriage, and by the time he got the offer there was very little holding him in Manhattan. Still, Peter was an east coast man, born and bred, and so much sunshine and dry weather and lack of greenery was going to take a lot more than six months to stop feeling alien.

In an attempt to explore his new environment more, Peter had decided to take a rural highway home from a meeting in Nevada, and the road was unsettlingly empty. The lack of other cars made the drive easy, but the absence of things like gas stations and functioning cell towers put him on edge. Even in rural New York, civilization was never very far away. Peter's interest was piqued when he passed a faded yellow classic Chevy on the side of the road, but the car could have been there for days, months even. A few miles down the road, Peter thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when he saw movement in the scrub growing next to the blacktop, but then he blinked and realized it was a man. He saw a slim man walking slowly down the road in clothes the color of the sand surrounding him, his suit jacket trailing in one hand and a brown satchel hanging from one shoulder.

Peter didn't love the idea of picking up a random hitchhiker, but as far out as they were his conscience wouldn't let him just drive on past. He made sure his weapon was hidden but close at hand and hit the button to roll the passenger side window down as he pulled over next to the man. "Hey, need a ride?"

The man looked up and down the road then bent down to look inside Peter's car. In the harsh light, Peter got an impression of handsome, chiseled features and skin just starting to turn red in the sun. "Hi. Uh, I don't suppose you can get any bars on your phone?"

Peter checked to make sure, but there was no connection at all. "Sorry. Where are you headed?"

"LA, eventually. I think my car's a lost cause so right now I'm hoping to get somewhere I can pick up some new wheels." A stiff breeze kicked up, and the man winced as grains of sand hit his face. "Well, you don't _look_ like a serial killer."

"No. Actually--" Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge. "I'm an FBI agent, so murder would be a bad career move." The man's face tensed up, and he hesitated for a minute before his shoulders dropped. Peter was used to people reacting strangely to the news that he was a law enforcement officer, and he didn't get anything close to a dangerous vibe off of the stranger, but he thought he could take care of himself in any case. "So, do you want a ride? I'm headed to LA, too."

The man nodded slowly. "That would be great. Thanks."

Peter reached across to pop the door open, and the stranger got inside. This close, Peter could see that his short hair was spiky with dried sweat. He rooted around behind his seat until he fished a bottle of water from the cooler in the back seat. "Here, you look like you need this."

"Thank you." The man cracked the bottle cap and took a long drink that exposed the length of his neck.

Peter swallowed hard himself and adjusted himself in his seat. "My name's Peter Burke, by the way."

The man coughed on the water, a dry laugh. "I saw that on your badge, Agent Burke." He hesitated, giving Peter an odd look, then held out his hand. "I'm Neal Caffrey."

Peter felt a tingle of connection as he shook the man's hand. "Nice to meet you." He checked for traffic out of habit then pulled back on to the road. Neal sat quietly sipping the water, and Peter found himself distracted by the smell of him, just inches away. He smelled of clean sweat with a trace of some kind of heady cologne, and Peter turned up the a/c, telling himself it was to make his passenger more comfortable.

"So, what do you do, Mr. Caffrey?"

"Neal, please. And, well, I'm a professional poker player."

"Interesting. You any good?"

"Some days better than others. Today I bet on my car making it back to LA, and I definitely lost that wager."

"Are you on your way to a game or a tournament or whatever?"

"Not really. I just finished one early this morning before I got on the road."

Peter glanced over at his passenger and saw the gray-flecked stubble on his face, the lines worn around his eyes. "Don't feel like you have to keep me company. I was listening to a ballgame on the radio before I spotted you."

"I'm fine, thanks."

"Sure." Peter turned the radio back up, tuned the station in as well as he could, and continued driving. Between listening to the game and holding the wheel steady against growing gusts of wind, Peter didn't pay much attention to his passenger until he heard a small snuffling noise and looked over to see that Neal was asleep with his head tilted against the window. "Not a baseball fan, huh?" Peter murmured to himself. Something about the sleeping man looked familiar, but Peter couldn't place it. A guy who looked like that living in LA, he'd probably done some modeling or been on a reality show or something. Peter didn't think it was much of a mystery.

Half an hour later, the skies were darker, the wind blowing sheets of sand at him, and Peter was relieved to see some buildings up ahead. It looked like just a motel, restaurant and gas station but that was all Peter needed. He pulled into a parking spot near the hotel office then turned to look at his passenger. "Hey, Neal?" Peter gently shook the man's shoulder, and he startled awake.

"Huh?" He looked around, a touch of panic in his eyes. "What? Where are we?"

"I pulled over because I don't like this weather. We don't have sandstorms in New York, and I'd rather wait it out here than push on and end up in trouble with no civilization around."

"And this is civilization?"

"It's the closest we're getting right now. I figured I'd get a room, catch up on some paperwork, and if the weather clears up before too late we can get back on the road. If you want to get a room, get some sleep, I'll come find you before I leave."

Neal looked anxious for a moment then nodded. "That would be great. Thank you."

"Not a problem. Let's hit the office." Peter held his jacket in front of his face as he jogged toward the motel office, and when he got inside he saw Neal shaking out his jacket from doing the same.

The woman behind the counter gave them a long side-eye then smiled. "You guys are in luck, we've got one king room left."

Peter was torn between being irritated at the woman's assumptions and being slightly flattered that she thought the male model in the form-fitting suit could be his...date? lover? "Actually, we need two rooms. I don't care if they're kings or not."

She lifted one drawn-on eyebrow. "The king is all we've got. You want it?"

Peter sighed and looked over at Neal who shrugged casually, though something in his eyes suggested he was thinking about running for the hills, weather be damned. "Sure, fine." Peter handed over his ID and credit card then accepted the pair of key cards. A few minutes later, Peter had moved the car and grabbed his bag, and he and Neal were both inside the room. Peter shook sand out of his hair and frowned when he saw that the room didn't even have a desk and chair, just one large bed. "Great."

Neal cleared his throat. "I'm going to go clean up a little, if you don't mind."

"Go ahead." Peter shook his head at himself--how had he ended up in this situation, sharing a room with a total stranger? Putting aside the absurdity of the whole thing, Peter had to admit that the room was at least clean, and the bed was wide enough that Peter could sit with his laptop on one side, and Neal could nap on the other, and they should be able to stay out of each other's way. When he heard the shower turn on, Peter figured he had a few minutes before he could go wash up a little bit himself, so he took off his tie, kicked off his shoes and loosened his collar to get more comfortable. He unpacked his laptop and travel receipts then looked up when he heard the bathroom door open.

Peter gaped as he saw Neal standing in the doorway. He'd been ridiculously attractive in his fitted suit, his skin covered in a fine layer of sand, but now he was wearing nothing but a thin t-shirt and boxer briefs, his hair damp and disheveled. Peter felt again that he knew this man, that he should recognize him from somewhere, but he couldn't imagine how he could have forgotten that face if he'd met him at any point since he moved out to California. His body was lean, if perhaps slightly too lean, his face chiseled, his eyes stunningly blue.

Neal smiled sheepishly, softening the edge of his seeming perfection. "Sorry about this, but my clothes aren't exactly cut for comfort, and I couldn't shake all of the sand out anyway but I had these clean in my bag."

"Hey, it's fine. At least you're not a fan of banana hammocks." Peter wanted to bite his tongue but Neal just laughed softly.

"Yeah, that would be awkward."

"Uh, yeah. My turn to wash up, I guess." Peter grabbed his bag and walked into the bathroom before he could embarrass himself further. He wasn't going to take a shower, but then unlike Neal he hadn't been out walking in the heat. Peter splashed water on his face and neck, stuck his head under the tap to rinse the sand out of his hair and brushed the grit from his teeth. In the middle of towel-drying his hair, he realized that he really should have secured his laptop before leaving it in the room. He hadn't brought in any files and his weapon was with him in his bag, but the laptop was out there with some unreasonably attractive professional gambler.

Peter left the bathroom as quickly as he could without obviously hurrying but he found nothing other than Neal stretched out under the covers on the very edge of the mattress and his laptop seemingly untouched on the far side of the bed. Peter shook his head at his own paranoia then peeked outside at the storm before sitting down to work on his expense report. It was difficult, however, to concentrate on the numbers when he was sharing a bed with a man--with anyone--for the first time in months. Neal seemed to be asleep, and all Peter could see was the short, dark hair on the back of his head and the slight flush of sunburn on the back of his neck. He wanted to reach out and touch that hair, to trail his fingers down to the warm skin of his neck then around to his chest and down--

No. Peter firmly reminded himself that he wasn't the kind of man who would pick up a hitchhiker and then take advantage in some cheap motel room. Granted, the man asleep next to him was far from a kid. Peter's guess was mid-thirties, youthful good looks tempered by the accumulation of years and experience. Peter forced himself to finish his paperwork, and when he looked outside he found that the weather was no better. With evening coming soon, Peter didn't like the idea of getting back on the road, and he hoped that Neal didn't have any urgent business in the city. Peter sent emails to his boss and his team to let them know he wouldn't be back in the office until the next day then went to wake up his sleeping guest.

"Hey." Peter shook the man's shoulder, and Neal jerked awake then sat up.

"Sorry. Is it time to go?"

"I don't think it's safe to get back on the road right now so I'm going to stay put for the night."

"Okay sure." Neal scrubbed his hand over his face then nodded. "I guess I'll go see if they've had another room open up. Or maybe I can just find a ride. Thanks for letting me catch a nap."

"Are you nuts? There's no way anybody has checked out in the last few hours with that mess outside, and walking down the road is unsafe for about six different reasons. Why don't you just stay put, we can manage. I bet we can even get some food delivered from the diner out there."

Neal looked steadily at Peter for a long moment then nodded. "Thank you." He got out of bed and stretched, and Peter couldn't look away from the way his shirt rode up over his low-slung boxers revealing a pale expanse of flat abs with a line of dark hair leading below. Neal dropped his arms back to his sides and met Peter's eyes, and Peter felt himself blush as he looked away, caught. Caught with a bulge in his pants, no less.

"I'm sorry." Peter turned around. "I didn't mean--"

"I did." Neal's voice was close, and then Peter felt a hand tug on his shoulder, and he turned around to find himself disconcertingly close to that handsome face, to the eyes that he now realized were slate blue. Neal leaned closer, and his teeth nipped gently on Peter's lower lip. Peter inhaled, and Neal took his open mouth as an invitation, sliding his tongue in across Peter's. He knew he should stop, should pull away, but Peter found himself grabbing handfuls of the other man's t-shirt and tugging him closer as they kissed. It was all yielding lips and clicking teeth and short gasps of breath that left Peter's head spinning. He felt the sharp edge of the dresser behind his thighs and sat down, struggling to find his equilibrium.

He looked up at Neal, who stood there looking debauched with swollen lips and his shirt mangled by Peter's hands. "You don't have to, I'm not asking you to--"

Neal laughed. "I know that. I might've just come from Vegas, but I'm no whore."

He didn't sound offended at the implication, but Peter apologized anyway. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"You kind of did, but it's okay. I've been a lot of things, but not that."

"What kind of things?"

Neal didn't answer for a moment, but then he shrugged. "A painter, a sculptor, a cook. I've worked in acquisitions." He paused then added, "Stocks and bonds."

Something about that seemed like should have been significant, but Peter couldn't get a grip on it through the lust fogging his brain. "Butcher and baker and candlestick maker?"

"Maybe once or twice. I like to live in the moment, and right now, this moment, I'm here with you."

"Uh-huh." Peter stayed seated and pulled Neal closer with a hand on his waist. He tugged the designer boxer briefs down to cling around his thighs and sighed at the sight of his cock. It was slimmer than Peter's own, half-hard, cut. Gorgeous. Peter wrapped one hand around the shaft and started to slowly jack it. As he ran his thumb through the bead of pre-cum gathering on the tip, Peter groaned. "I don't have any condoms in my bag."

"I do." Neal grinned wickedly. "You want to fuck me?"

Peter had been thinking along the lines of trading off blow jobs, but then Neal pushed his underwear the rest of the way down and turned around to go root around in his bag. His ass was perfect, unexpectedly round in contrast to his wiry build, and it had been a long, long time. Peter's mouth was dry, and he realized he hadn't answered the question as Neal turned around with condoms and lube in his hand. "Yes. I--god, yes."

Neal sauntered over to the bed, his cock bobbing in front of him. "You want me on my knees?"

"Yes." Peter swallowed thickly and began to work at his belt, suddenly feeling stifled by his clothes.

Neal knelt up on the bed and squeezed some lube onto his fingers then reached back and slicked himself up while he watched Peter undress. His body was glorious, one smooth arc from knees to shoulders, toned muscles in a slim build, and Peter felt bulky and average as he pulled off his t-shirt. "Nice," Neal said, his voice rough.

"What?" Peter pushed his pants and brief down, and Neal didn't bother to disguise the fact that he was checking Peter out. "What?"

"You. You should wear suits that fit you better. Show off a little."

"You want to talk about clothes? Now?" Peter sat on the bed, and Neal sank down to sit on his heels.

"Not really." He reached out and touched Peter's chest, running his fingers over the lines of the muscle in a way that made Peter very, very glad he took time to keep himself in shape. He touched Peter's cock then, and Peter gasped at the shock of sensation. He wasn't going to last long if Neal kept touching him like that.

"Turn around," Peter growled, and Neal grinned before kneeling up on the bed and shifting himself around to lay with his chest on a couple of pillows, his knees bent under him, angled wide, the curve of his ass impossible to ignore. Peter opened a condom and rolled it down onto his cock then slicked himself up with lube and and got behind that perfect ass. He put his hands on Neal's hips and forced out a shaky exhale.

"Come on," Neal said. He wagged his hips back and forth, taunting, and it was too much. Peter lined himself up, and he felt the give of Neal bearing down, opening up to him as he pushed inside.

"Oh, God," Peter whispered on an unsteady breath, then Neal pushed his hips back towards Peter's and they started moving together. Peter steadied himself with one hand on Neal's shoulder and reached his other hand around to work Neal's cock, jacking him in time with their thrusts until they were both covered in sweat, right on the edge of coming.

Peter got there sooner than he wanted. He thrust in deeper, faster, and when he felt Neal push his hand aside to work his cock himself Peter braced both hands on Neal's hips and stayed deep inside as he shook and came. Peter slumped down with his head on the other man's back and listened to the frantic rate of his pulse and breathing begin to slow and settled. Peter just wanted to stay there, but he roused himself enough to pull out and take care of the condom then laid back down next to Neal, who was slowly stretching out his legs to lay flat on his stomach, his head turned to face Peter.

Neal gave him a sleepy, satisfied smile, and once again Peter felt a prickle of recognition but in the haze of the afterglow he mused that what he saw was something inside, some connection they were meant to have. That thought in his mind, Peter smiled back and faded into sleep.

When Peter woke up some time later, Neal was still sleeping. In repose, his face looked years younger, less careworn, more innocent. Peter imagined what his hair would look like grown longer. Short as it was, Peter could see some curl from the sweat dampening it, and he thought it would be thick and wavy, draping over his forehead. Peter blinked as the image came together in his head, and he sat up abruptly, waking Neal in the process.

"What?" he said sleepily, then he tilted his head as he looked at Peter. "Oh." He sat up then, looking ready to run.

"Yeah, I figured out who you are." Peter thought back to the bond forgery case he had started to investigate so many years ago. He had been so sure that the floppy-haired, confident kid who had handed him that lollipop was the one who did it, but then the case was taken from him. Peter was reassigned to work undercover, and nothing after that ever felt like it had worked out the way it was meant to be. "Stocks and bonds, you said. You mean forging bonds?"

Neal shrugged diffidently, but his eyes were wide, his whole body tensed. Peter thought about slapping cuffs on him, but not only did he not have any cuffs in the room, he didn't have any evidence. "Was this all some kind of trick? Did you put yourself on the side of the road there to wait for me? What are you trying to get out of this? Who are you working with?" Peter rolled out of bed and stalked over to grab his clothes, not willing to have any more of this discussion naked.

"Whoa, relax. I was on the side of the road because I have a predilection for classic cars despite the fact that they keep letting me down. I really am a professional poker player. I have been for years. I pay taxes, unfortunately. It's all legit. And I'm not working with anybody. I'm not going to comment on what I might have been doing with myself ten years ago, but I'll say that I was a kid with a lot of big dreams and they ended up being a nightmare." He looked away, his face shadowed. "Do I trick people? Sometimes, but that's part of the game." He turned back to look straight at Peter. "None of this was any kind of trick."

Peter sighed heavily and occupied himself with buttoning up his shirt and buckling his belt. Neal was still in bed, naked under the covers. "I don't know what to do here," Peter admitted.

"That's up to you. I'll tell you that anything I took back then? It was all taken from me by somebody else." Peter saw a rueful kind of bitterness on his face. "All of it and more. And you will _never_ catch him, I know that much."

Peter shook his head and walked over to look outside. The weather had died down, and he still didn't like the idea of driving through the unfamiliar desert at night but the lights were on in the nearby diner. Peter put on his shoes and grabbed his wallet and room key. "I'm going to get something to eat. I'll be back in a little while."

"Okay," Neal said quietly. "Thanks."

Peter walked outside then stood in front of the closed door for a minute before continuing on to the diner. He was far from hungry, but he ordered a coffee and a plate of fries. An hour later, he went back to the room and as expected he found Neal gone, along with his things. Peter's bag was still there, his laptop sitting open on the bedside table. The web browser was up with several tabs open. The first was an article about Vincent Adler, the Ponzi schemer who had disappeared with millions, and the lead photo showed Adler with a much younger version of Neal standing in his shadow. Other tabs contained seemingly unrelated articles about a young woman who had died in a plane crash and about works of art thought long-gone that had surfaced in recent years. Next was the public record of a court case in France, Neal Caffrey sentenced to two years in prison for theft. The last tab had a profile on Neal, including his wins and losses on the professional poker circuit over the last few years, with a photo of him looking a little bit younger, his hair a few inches longer.

Neal had run, but he ran knowing that Peter could find him. Peter thought about tracking him down, arresting him. He had little doubt that he could find something to pin on the man but the pain of loss on Neal's face had been real. Neal had already paid for at least some of his crimes, and Peter's gut said that there was nothing to gain in pursuing the case. He thought about finding Neal and seeing if they could have something together, but the reality was that while he could look the other way and never tell the story of the stranger he'd picked up in the desert, having a relationship was a different thing. An impossible thing.

Peter lay awake much of the night, alone in the wide hotel bed, and he drove home alone the next day, scanning the side of the highway as he went. Wherever Neal had gone, Peter just hoped that he would be safe.


End file.
